Unchained Melody
by SoItGoes19
Summary: "The music is somehow heartbreakingly familiar to her, a ghost of a melody that whips about the air and whispers to her of something lost, something forgotten." Olivia struggles to remember Peter.  Post "The Day We Died"


**Hello :) Due to being away at my first semester at college ****I haven't been able to write for forever, but after that absolutely heart-breaking finale I felt compelled to take a stab at it once again. Hopefully I'm not too out of practice! So without further ado…**

Olivia stands and watches the scene unfold around her. Dozens of Fringe agents sweep through the upper class Manhattan apartment, searching efficiently for any last shred of evidence, any sign that anything out of the ordinary had occurred. With agents from both their own universe and the other, the Fringe division was expanding at an exponential rate (which was good, because at the rate the events were occurring they needed all the help they could get.) Olivia can't help but think that they all look like little spiders as they scurry quickly from one room to the next in sharp but careful movements. "Oh the tangled web we weave," she remarks to herself.

"Good work today, Dunham," Broyles praises her briskly as he passes through. His words ought to have filled her with pride, along with the knowledge that she deserved them. After all, she and her team had put away the leader of an enormous inter-universe child-trafficking ring. Leon, the leader of the group, had rather ingeniously thought to use the soft-spots to shuffle the children in between the various universes and then sell them to willing buyers on the other side. Because of her, that creep would never touch another child again. She ought to feel proud of what she had done, tired after a hard days work, maybe even a little hopeful that because of her, the world was a bit brighter.

She ought to feel _something_.

Instead Olivia just feels…removed. An observer of her own life. While Rachael assure her that she is just going through a phase, Olivia feels like she's constantly on the fringe, waiting for something to pull her back into the scene. _Or maybe, _a part of her whispered, _someone. _

Olivia shuddered. And then there were the other things, things that she never told anyone else about. Like how each night she dreamed of a man whose face she could not see but whose voice sounded like soft velvet. Or how she awoke each night to the sound of that voice saying her name one last time so gently and mournfully that it made her cry. "Olivia," it whispered into the night. The voice caresses each syllable of her name as gently as one would hold a lover, each subtle nuance holding meaning and power. She cries because she thinks she is going crazy. She cries because no one has ever said her name like that.

* * *

><p>Peter stands and watches her from the corner of the room as a sad little smile creeps on to his face.<p>

All he ever does is watch her.

He watches her in the morning as she slips on her customary attire of blues and grays or as she expertly pulls her hair into a neat little ponytail. He watches her eyebrows crinkle adorably in the lab as she tries to understand Walter's tangled stream of consciousness without him to play interpreter. He watches as she fakes her way through the day with a false bravado and a smile that never quite reaches her eyes, and wonders how no one else can see it.

This is the day. In the day he can control himself and his impulses to help her because he understands that they are useless. He knows he's…well, to be honest Peter Bishop doesn't quite know what he is, but he knows that he is not of her world anymore, that he willingly sacrificed his very existence so that she could spared. And he doesn't regret his decision for a second. So he doesn't try to tuck her golden strands of hair back behind her ears when they fall out of place, and he doesn't translate Walter's incomprehensible scientific jargon into a way that she can understand. He doesn't try to reach her because he knows that he will fail. His fingers will simply brush through her hair without truly feeling anything. His explanations will fall on to deaf ears. Peter Bishop knows that he will fail, and that is that.

But the night is different.

At night when Olivia tosses and turns into the small hours Peter can't stop himself from crawling into bed with her and whispering soft reassurances into her ears that everything will be all right. He tries to take her into his arms and press her small form close to him so that she can be soothed by the steady beating of his heart, all the while breathing in her unique scent that is a combination of gunpowder and rain. He softly kisses the tender spot on the back of her neck and strokes her long hair, murmuring her name over and over again like a prayer. Because seeing her like this makes him forget all reason, and he has to believe that there is a way for him to reach her, and for her to remember once again.

And each time when she awakes sobbing he can't stop himself from crying along with her.

While it breaks his heart to stay, the thought of leaving never crosses Peter's mind because she is his Olivia and he will have her in any way that he can. So Peters stays, and he watches.

His gaze is momentarily diverted by the gorgeous baby grand piano on the opposite of the room, and Peter can't help but think back to all of the times that he had played for her in the lab. Back in the beginning when he had composed a jazz hymn just for her and felt for the first time the steady burn of her green eyes as he had played, the burn that would later evolve into a smoldering flame. Or later when he had taught her the simple counter-melody so that the two of them could play together. He smiled sadly as he remembered pulling her to the bench amidst her many pearls of laughter and protests of "I can't!", all the while a pink flush beautifully adorning her pale cheeks. Olivia's slender fingers carefully mimicked his own graceful movements until she was able to perform the simple melody with ease, and the lab rang out with the beautiful music they made together.

Peter sighs. It was a happy memory, one of the happiest he had with her. Without knowing why, he crosses the room, sits atop the bench, and begins to play her song. His strong hands move lithely across the keys as he traces the melody that encapsulates the woman he loves with a skill attributed to his many years of practice and a fervor attributed to the depth of his passion. He can't help from thinking that the piece feels empty without her accompanying him.

He reaches the height of the crescendo with a spiraling trill and ends the piece with three soft chords. _They mean I love you, _he had told her long ago, once upon a forever.

"Did you hear that?" she asks.

* * *

><p>"Are you coming, Olivia?" Astrid asks her timidly. Walter trails behind her like a little lost sheep, mouth slightly agape, grey eyes clouded over with thought. The other agents have long since vacated the building after making sure that all the vortexes were sealed tight, and now the three of them are all that remain.<p>

Olivia feigns a smile. "In a bit. I'm just making sure we haven't missed anything." In truth, she can't bring herself to leave the apartment, though for the life of her she can't figure out why. It's like something in the room is calling to her, an echo of a memory long forgotten.

Astrid nods understandingly. "Let's go, Walter."

The scientist shakes his head obstinately. "I don't want to leave," he says with a fervor that surprises Olivia. She looks into his grey eyes and she resonates for a moment with the knowledge that he feels it all too: the haunting presence, the nagging feeling that something was missing.

"We can get tapioca pudding," Astrid says with a knowing smirk, and Olivia can't help but smile. While she certainly thought of Walter as like a father to her, it was Astrid who truly had a way with the old man (mostly because she seemed to understand that the way into Walter's was through his stomach.) Walter frowns slightly and Olivia can tell he still didn't quite want to leave, although he couldn't discover what made him want to stay either.

"Well, I am a little hungry," the scientist says reluctantly. "Are you sure that you don't want to come with us, Olivia?"

Olivia is this close to leaving with them when she hears them: the three soft jazz chords that reverberate through the air.

She looks around the room wildly. She didn't imagine them; of this she is sure.

"Did you hear that?" she asks her companions.

"Hear what?" Astrid asks her, her deep brown eyes widening in concern.

She should fear she is going insane. She should pretend it was nothing and go get tapioca pudding and blueberry pancakes and whatever other bizarre food concoctions Walter can think of with him and Astrid, the only little family that she had left.

But for some reason she wants to stay now more ever.

"I'll catch up with you later," Olivia says off-handedly as Astrid and Walter move slowly toward the door. It's only after they leave that Olivia can bring herself to look at the piano bench.

It is empty.

* * *

><p>The realization hits Peter like a lightening bolt. She had heard him. It shouldn't have even been physically possible, and yet it had happened as assuredly as she was standing in front of him right now. <em>She heard me. <em>He repeats over and over again in his mind._ She heard me. I can reach her. _

Peter begins playing her song again, much slower this time, trying to draw her to him like the proverbial moth to a flame. He holds his breath as she walks slowly toward the piano.

* * *

><p>Olivia shuts her eyes as the soft music washes over her once again and feels each knot of tension just sink out of her body only to be replaced by a sensation of tingling warmth that spreads inward from her toes and finger tips to her very core.<p>

Olivia begins slowly moving toward the piano, feeling like she's a part of a waking dream. This shouldn't be happening. She is an FBI agent for Christ's sake, a woman of facts and numbers, and she has never been one for chasing ghosts. Yet at the same time the music is somehow heartbreakingly familiar to her, a ghost of a melody that whips about the air and whispers to her of something lost, something forgotten.

The music grows louder with each step that she takes until she finds herself sittingon the piano bench. As if moving of their own accord, her fingers reach for the keys. And then the oddest thing happens. They begin to play, and what comes out is somehow not the disjointed janglings of someone who has no musical aptitude whatsoever, but a smooth, simple melody.

_How am I doing this?_ Olivia wonders. _This doesn't make sense._

But then again, neither do the tears that have suddenly sprang to her eyes or the creeping notion that there should be a man playing next to her.

* * *

><p>Peter plays his part to perfection all the while watching the tears fall silently from her beautiful green eyes. "Remember me," he murmurs to her as he presses a gentle kiss to her neck, then another, then another, working his way up to her cheek. On the last one he feels her shiver beneath his touch, and a single flower of hope blossoms in his chest. A white tulip.<p>

"Remember me, Olivia" he repeats once more and strokes her hair.

* * *

><p>Olivia feels the warm, steady breath of someone on the back of her neck, and goose bumps rise up on her bare flesh. Olivia plays faster. There is no one behind her. <em>But there should be… <em>

Olivia shivers as she detects the lightest of touches on her cheek, the ghost kiss of a phantom lover.

"Remember me, Olivia," she hears the soft whisper in her ear, the voice as smooth as velvet. The voice of the man from her dreams.

"Help me remember," she cries, the tears now falling freely to the keys. Her hair moves as if blown by a gentle summer wind, and she gasps because it's quickly becoming hard for her to breath. Her fingers move faster and faster as the song reaches its crescendo while her mind struggles to make out a face. At first all that she see is a blur, as if the man has been censored from her mind.

Olivia pushes deeper, ignoring the throbbing pain in her temples. She sees a chiseled chin, covered with the slightest hint of stubble. A kind smile that conveyed all the playfulness of a smirk, but none of its malice. Small dimples adorning it on either side.

She cries out in pain as the dull throb in her skull becomes a pain so sharp that she sees spots. Short brown hair. But the eyes….the eyes are what truly draw her in. Olivia can't help but think that she'd be able to stare into those eyes for hours upon end. They are pale blue with hints of gray and silver, for a second she wonders on how similar they are to Walters. The piercing gaze hints at a fierce intelligence able to see straight through to the inner workings of the world and gleams with the soft warmth of a man able to truly understand and connect with people. She sees kindness. Understanding. Respect.

She sees love.

As the song ends her shaking hands play three soft chords.

* * *

><p>As the song progresses Peter can't stop his single flower of hope from blooming into an entire field of white tulips. While Olivia Dunham is a closed book to most people, Peter has always been able to read her green eyes and understand, perhaps even better than she understood herself. Peter looks into those eyes ands sees a determination burning hotter than any flame, a focus narrower than any search beam. He smiles and is once again reminded of just how much he loves her. <em>Agent Olivia Dunham is on the case. <em>

And Agent Olivia Dunham does not fail.

But when she cries out in pain he can't help but question himself. Was the stress on her mind too great? Was it fair for him to push her to remember something that in reality never even existed?

Peter places his hands on her temples and makes a decision: if she doesn't remember now, he would leave. He would leave, and she would live her life, if not in happiness, than in peace, without him forever haunting her.

The two of them play the last three chords, and Peter holds his breath in anticipation.

Nothing. Her green eyes remained as focused as lasers, but he detects no hint of realization in them. The flowers of hope burst into flame, leaving behind only a field of ash in their wake. Peter feels as if he is choking on it. She doesn't remember.

Before he leaves Peter gives her one last parting gift: a swift kiss on the lips and a whisper of what she means to him.

"They mean I love you."

Peter moves toward the door.

* * *

><p>Olivia feels a soft kiss on her lips; the most gentle, loving touch she has ever received. A flash of memory dances in front of her eyes. The two of them, her and the man from her dreams, sitting at the piano bench in the lab. They play the ending chords and the man reaches for her hand. "They mean I love you," the man tells her. His blue eyes look at her as if she is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and Olivia has never felt happier in her life.<p>

A soft voice whispers in her ear. "They mean I love you."

The air seems to hum in anticipation, and Olivia pushes hard, harder than she has ever pushed before. All she finds is a single name.

"Peter?"

**This piece is kind of my baby, so hopefully you all liked it! And if not, constructive criticism is always appreciated :p**


End file.
